


Floriography

by risotto



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: But there is a Flower Shop, Confessions, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, Rare Pair, Surprise Pairing, This is not a Flower Shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: floriography(n.) the language of flowers.(Alternate title: A knight walks into a flower shop and...)





	Floriography

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Fire Emblem fandom. Just wanted to dip my toes in the water, so to speak. Please enjoy!

This is a mistake.

As beautiful and delicate as the merchandise within it is, the flower shop is perhaps the most intimidating place Silas has ever stepped foot in. He’s not sure why, exactly. Maybe it’s the way the clerks—two young women within marriageable age—round on him like vultures on a fresh carcass, hunger in their eyes.

How Kaze can do this and remain virtually unscathed day in and out, he’ll never know.

“Sir, how can we help you?” they sing in unison.

Silas feels like running for the hills. “Um.”

Behind them, a woman, much older and matronly in appearance, steps into view. She clears her throat and the girls jump; Silas does, too. “Jana, Milly. I seem to recall asking you to fetch me a few things from the apothecary an hour ago, or am I mistaken?”

There’s an unwavering, icy authority in her voice that would fit right in with the Nohrian royal family. The girls brook no argument; they hike up their skirts and hurry out of the store, their heads bowed. 

Silas considers following suite until the woman turns toward him, her once-hardened features soft and welcoming. “They’re like this whenever men enter the store. I apologize if they were too forward with you, sir.”

“Oh, they were no bother,” says Silas around a nervous smile. “I’m, ah, actually looking to make a purchase for someone?”

The woman nods once, folds her hands in front of her, patiently. “Your wife?”

“No.”

“Oh, I see,” she smiles knowingly, “you’re courting someone.”

“Not quite that either,” Silas admits, feeling sweat pool at the nape of his neck, “I, ah, I want to confess to someone…”

The woman’s head tilts, confused, as she squints. “But you’re not courting her?”

“I’m afraid it’s...complicated,” Silas sighs.

Very complicated. Silas is aware of societal norms and expectations and the types of people honorable knights like him should, and shouldn’t, associate and become enamored with. He’s going about this the wrong way but he can’t, for the life of him, think of any other alternatives.

“Love always is,” the clerk says with a helpful smile. It’s enough to settle Silas’ nerves and he finds himself smiling back. Maybe he’ll make it out of this intact after all.

“Come, I’ll help you find something perfect.” She takes off into a march towards the back of the shop, leaving Silas no other choice but to follow her like an attentive puppy.

She leads him to where a colorful array of flowers of various genera sit on display on a broad windowsill, drenched by the light of the sun. “Well then,” she begins, sweeping her hands out over them, “as you may know, each flower has its own meaning, so it’s not only important to get something that looks beautiful, but also something that conveys the right message. For example, carnations are for friendship.”

“I’m looking for a something a bit more beyond friendship,” Silas admits, timidly.

“Of course you are.” The woman chortles and snatches up a small pot from the sill. Bright and white. “Gardenias,” she offers. “They’re a way to tell someone they’re lovely. They also symbolize secret love.”

She levels a look on him, like she _knows_ , and Silas feels himself burn on the spot.

“They’re, um, nice,” he half-mumbles. They’re more than just nice, but he’s convinced if his mouth keeps moving, he’s liable to reveal much more than he wants to right now.

The woman continues on and Silas is on her heels the entire time. She introduces him to more flowers, each one more intricate and vibrant than the last. “You could also go for calla lilies. They’re very pretty. Or orchids, if you want something more exotic.”

“I’m not sure if I want to go that far out. I like the gardenias but---”

From the corner of his eye, a pot of pale blue and purple flowers snatches Silas’ attention and he jerks, as if suddenly awake. The woman follows his line of sight and wrings her hands. “Ah, those are hydrangeas,” she informs him.

“They’re _perfect_ ,” whispers Silas.

Though he’s not looking directly at her, Silas can tell the woman is making some sort of face when she asks him, “Are you certain, sir? Ah, wouldn’t... _she_ prefer red roses?”

Red roses are typical. Silas isn’t well-versed in the language of flowers but even he knows what those mean. Heat rushes up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears as he shakes his head. “I’m sure they’re lovely, but…”

“She would _love_ them,” the woman insists, a fire of determination burning every word. “Anyone would. They’re traditional for a reason, you know.”

“Yes, but---”

“Young man,” the woman implores him in _that_ tone from earlier, forcing him to countenance her, “you love this person, do you not?”

Forcing the tight nervousness in his throat down, Silas nods, quietly. “Y-Yes, I believe I do…”

“Then why not say so?”

Why not, indeed.

With a sigh, Silas turns to her. “Can I trouble you for a special arrangement?”

 

\--

 

Just as Silas hoped and feared, the light of a burning candle still shines beneath the door when he arrives later that evening. 

He can hear the shuffle of movement within, likely the occupant either settling down for the evening or preparing for the morning. It’s a rare, free moment; the perfect time to approach, yet Silas can’t bring himself to move.

He’s convinced this is a mistake. But after enduring that woman’s lectures on love and life and spending well over his intended budget for flowers from her shop, he knows there’s no turning away from this. 

Silas cards a shaky hand through his hair, trying to subdue any rebellious strands. He then takes a deep breath to steady himself and knocks on the door.

It swings open.

Jakob’s there, his eyes narrowed into thin slits. He’s still dressed, his pale hair still pulled back into a ponytail tauter and neater than the frown he gives him. It’s to be expected: Jakob’s never thrilled to see anyone except Corrin; Silas learned long ago to not take his looks of minor disdain personally.

“I do hope you’ve come to warn me of a raging fire,” Jakob drones.

Silas shakes his head. “Uh, n-no, not...that.”

“A rampaging lunatic enroute to kill Lord Corrin in his quarters, perhaps?”

This was never going to be easy, Silas realizes. So, he gives up and just thrusts his offering forward like a shield.

For the first time since he’s known him, Jakob’s stunned, his eyes shocked wide, his mouth open and incapable of forming any words beyond, “hydrangeas?”

“I know they’re not fancy or anything,” Silas starts, “and mixed in with the others, they might look a little silly. But I thought these suited you better than…”

There’s a single red rose in the center of the bouquet. Jakob glides his slender fingers over its petals, softly and gingerly, with the same care one would their lover’s hand. It’s almost hypnotic.

Realizing he’s staring, Silas swallows and shifts. “Um, anyway, if you’d like, I can return with another—”

“I have to be awake in four hours,” Jakob murmurs.

“Right.” Silas isn’t sure what he means by that. He only knows that by then, Jakob would be in an even worse mood than he is now. Par the course, really. Jakob _hates_ mornings. That Silas knows that much about him makes something warm bloom in his chest. “My apologies, then. I shouldn’t have bothered you…”

“Heavens, but you are so _dense_.”

Without explanation, Jakob yanks an unsuspecting Silas into his room and slams the door shut behind them.

 

\--

 

The gardenias don’t survive for very long; the hydrangeas wilt away even sooner. Only the rose lasts beyond a few days, kept safe in a bottle on the nightstand beside their bed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Silas/Jakob, okay.
> 
> Also, http://www.thelanguageofflowers.com/ is the 'guide' I used, in case you were wondering.


End file.
